


A Queen and Two Rooks

by SLWalker



Category: Midnight Blue - Fandom
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Homophobia, Misogyny, Undercover As Gay, undercover as straight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 09:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9485507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker
Summary: 1985:  After an undercover from VPD spots Brett on the gay club scene, Mike has to come up with a plan.





	

**Author's Note:**

> \--I titled it that because once I had that title in my head, I couldn't quit laughing.

"I was lonely."

Brett's face twisted into something painful when he said it; something vulnerable and miserable, and Mike had to work to keep his own face steady and calm and open. Brett hadn't been a rookie in almost a year, but that didn't stop all of those FTO instincts that snapped into place when Mike started training the man, and those instincts made him want to revert to some scary practices he swore to himself he'd never, ever go near again, even if he'd only given into them once.

Like beating an undercover from VPD in some dark alley until he was spitting out teeth.

Brett's big hands were buried in Chevy's ruff, and he wouldn't make eye contact, and Mike took a few slow breaths before sinking down in the recliner.

"You can't be the only gay cop in the LMD," he said, after a few moments, hoping that it was enough reassurance to go on until he could get his thoughts together and come up with a strategy.

Brett palmed down his face, then went back to petting the dog. Mike was pretty sure that was the only thing keeping the man sitting. Brett had an amazing poker face -- Mike just now learned how amazing, for that matter -- but right here, in his own apartment with his former FTO, he was defenseless and the urge to fix it was so strong that it itched under Mike's skin.

"I didn't mean for you to find out like this." Brett shook his head. "Or find out at all, really."

Mike shook his, too. "I'm glad I did, though."

Brett looked up, then, eyebrows drawn in confusion and equally painful measures of anxiety and hope.

"I mean, that I know, not that I found out like that. But anyway, first I'm going to go and do some digging," Mike said, carefully, and the expression on Brett's face tipped a bit closer to hope, though not wholly. "Do a little damage control. And then we're going to come up with a plan, okay?"

Brett's mouth twitched, but then his face steadied. "Okay."

That was a hell of a lot of trust; damned if Mike was going to break it.

 

 

The whole thing started with a joint operation between VPD and E-Div. Mike didn't care for undercover work; he'd done a stint or five before he gained his stripes, but despite plain clothes courting him pretty hard, he just wasn't happy at it and then there was the whole thing where they said the mustache might have to go, and no, no amount of courting was enough to get Mike to shave. So, he went back to uniformed patrol and managed to defy the odds in getting a promotion, and then he decided he wanted to train the new constables coming in instead of just watching them get ground into dust between the gears of the RCMP.

He still ended up sometimes doing plainclothes work, though. In this case, it was a mass arrest situation dealing with a prostitution ring that was scattered between Vancouver metro and the rest of the LMD; there were a whole lot of cops involved. Including him and Brett. So, he dressed down and went out and got into assigned position with his former rook, and when the word came and the bust went down, that was it.

Except-- that wasn't it.

Because after everyone was cuffed and stuck in wagons and sent for processing; after the scene was mostly cleared and they were free to go back to their own jurisdictions, Mike was just stepping out of a greasy spoon with a cup of coffee when an even greasier looking guy who'd been part of the bust cornered him.

When it came to undercover cops, one couldn't just judge the book by its cover, but sometimes things were pretty clear and plain even before you cracked said cover open. This guy showed his innards right off, proving that the outside and inside were the same.

"Didn't know the Mounties started letting faggots in," he said, leaning on the brick wall.

Mike had eyed him over the edge of his styrofoam cup, then blew the steam off of the coffee, took a slow sip, and asked, "Some particular reason you're asking?"

He knew full well that could have been taken about a hundred ways -- just because he was usually uniformed didn't mean plain clothes was _wrong_  to court him for investigation -- but apparently the other cop already had a target in mind. "That big blond you were working with. He's been hanging out on Davie getting real friendly with the other queers. Far as I know, none of your guys are assigned there."

Something in Mike went cold and he didn't have to fake the surprise on his face, though he firmly kept a lid on his sudden urge to punch another cop. "Really?"

"Yeah. That's my neck of the woods, and he's not exactly inconspicuous." The other cop blew out a breath that sounded disgusted, posture relaxing now that he thought he had an ally. "You know who he is?"

"No, I think he's from another detachment."

"Huh. Maybe I'll see if I can shake some trees, see what falls out."

Mike shrugged, that urge growing about a hundred times worse. And it had already been pretty bad. "Good luck."

Two lies in less than twenty seconds. Well, maybe not. That guy was gonna need all the luck he could get, by the time Mike was done with him, if Mike had anything to say about it.

 

 

It wasn't like Mike was ignorant to the issues the Force had. Getting Cathy Johannsen as a rookie had been even more of an eye-opener; Mike already thought the sexism in the Force was ridiculous and he didn't brook it on his watches, but actually seeing it in action was still like getting an ice-water bath. It was a wakeup call.

Cath took it with her chin up, and she bit right back at every crude comment thrown her way. The first few times, Mike had beaten her to the punch and crowded some meat-headed constable or another into a wall to bark at, but then Cath crowded _him_  into a wall and told him that he was welcome to back her up, but she didn't need any damned knights in red serge, she'd answer for herself.

Lesson well learned, Mike thereafter stood behind her shoulder and let her do the talking.

Beyond the misogyny, there were the accusations of her being an iceberg, a dyke, a bitch and several other things. The part that burned Mike was how little he could actually _do_  about it, because while he knew it was still going on behind their backs, they'd certainly managed to deter it happening around them, and that meant he couldn't leap on it. It was a sort of awful catch-22.

Of course, not being able to change everything didn't stop him occasionally making someone harmlessly miserable. The opportunities he had as a watch commander, especially when rotated to midnights, to put anchovies in creative places helped him feel a little better, anyway. Anchovies and sometimes poison oak.

There was another thing he'd figured out pretty quick, though, and that was that he and Cath had a great working rapport, not at all dissimilar from the one that he'd had with Brett, back when he was a shiny new FTO and still learning the ropes himself. She was smart and sharper than any thumbtack; fearless, but also very level-headed and thoughtful. Plus, Cathy had a grudge against the more caveman aspects of the Force.

Therefore, it made perfect sense to him to turn to her for help, even if she was only five months into field training.

"Brett's gay."

They were patrolling in 10-bravo-4, out doing what they usually did -- searching for mischief, BOLOs and whatever else was going to fill a twelve hour midnight shift -- when Mike came out with that.

Cathy shot him a look from the driver's seat, something mixed surprise and confusion, probably wondering why he thought that was relevant. There were times when Mike's mouth got well ahead of him, so he gestured for a moment and then just put it all out on the table, "One of the VPD undercover guys recognized him while we were out on that bust, told me about it, asking if I knew who he was. I blew him off, but then I went and talked to Brett and he confirmed it."

"Shit," Cath said, blowing out a breath after a couple moments silence where she was processing that. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm not sure." Mike peered out into the murky night, all streetlights and mist, and chewed on a thumbnail while he thought about it. "I mean, obviously Brett's going to stay off of Davie, but I don't like the idea of that guy running around out there. If he figures out which detachment Brett's in..."

He didn't need to say anything else; he saw Cath twitch her head to the side like she could brush off the mere thought of the consequences. She knew Brett, they were in adjacent detachments and sometimes happened to sit and have a gam on the boundaries of their respective areas, and Brett was the one guy besides himself that Mike was absolutely sure wouldn't give her any hell for happening to be a woman. Plus, it only took them meeting twice to figure out they both enjoyed ganging up on Mike, which he thought was vastly unfair.

Right now, though, there was no joviality. Just the weight of the dilemma at hand.

And geez, was it. Brett could be a drug abuser or a wife beater and get in less trouble than he could for being gay; three of Mike's superiors were hardcore alcoholics that had no business being Mounties, for that matter. Mike didn't get it, and had never gotten it; it seemed kind of pointless to worry about what kind of company someone kept when it was all consensual. He knew other members of the RCMP had problems with it, but then again, they were usually the same block-headed morons who had issues with Cathy being a Mountie. Mike thought they were, invariably, something between ridiculous and badly in need of remedial education in the golden rule.

But of all the times for it to potentially come out that Brett was gay, this was one of the worst. There were so many memos about HTLV-III and AIDS coming out that there was no avoiding it, and public sentiment was starting to tip from anxiety to panic, and all of the ugly things panic could cause.

Mike groaned, despite himself, and rubbed his hand down his face.

"We'll-- figure something out," Cathy said, though she sounded kind of anxious herself.

"Looks like I get to play plainclothes investigator after all," Mike answered, already working over the possibilities. "In the meantime, I have kind of a weird favor to ask and if you hit me after I ask, I'll probably turn the other cheek so you can make sure both handprints match."

 

 

  
Cathy didn't hit him, much to Mike's (sort of) surprise. In fact, she stared at him incredulously, long enough that they missed a whole cycle of a traffic light and annoyed some poor civilian motorist behind them, then laughed. It really was kind of a weird favor, but in the end, Cath's own issues with the Force ended up tipping the balance quite firmly towards agreeing, even if her affection for Brett wouldn't have. (Mike thought probably it would have, though.)

"You can't walk like that," Brett said, sunk back in his recliner. He still looked kind of heartsick and scared, but at least this was providing him some entertainment. More importantly, he trembled with relief when Cath gave him a hug, once his shock at her being there wore off.

"Like what?" Mike asked, bemused, coming back from where he'd grabbed himself a glass of water in Brett's tiny kitchen area, before sitting down on the couch only to get mobbed by the dog.

"Like a cop," Cathy supplied helpfully, patting her leg until Chevy left Mike alone and rolled on her lap instead.

Brett nodded his agreement. "Like you spend twelve-hour shifts with thirty pounds of gear on your hips. I mean, if you're going to be hanging out on Davie, Corp, you're going to stick out like a sore thumb."

The undercover's name was Sam Seagram. It hadn't actually been hard to get his name; Mike just stopped downtown Vancouver after shift, in his uniform, and asked about where the guy was from because he wanted to 'thank' him for some tips and being good backup on the prostitution ring bust. Since he knew where the guy was usually located and his appearance, it only took about an hour and a half of bouncing between departments (and taking time for a cup of coffee, a donut or two, and some chatting) to get his name.

Mike wasn't wholly used to viewing another police force as a covert ops operation, but he didn't feel especially bothered by it, even if he liked a lot of the VPD patrolmen he encountered along the way.

Anyway, thus armed with new knowledge, he left and headed home, crashed for about five hours, and then grabbed a drowsy Cathy from her tiny studio apartment and went to let Brett in on the plan.

"Look, I don't know the first thing about pretending that I belong on the gay club scene, so any pointers you've got, I'll take them," Mike said, shaking his head, though it was with a bit of a grin anyway. He knew he could play a role for awhile, but he had to admit, this was one he hadn't seen coming at all when he joined the Force.

"Oh god," Brett groaned, rubbing at his eyes with both hands; Mike was kind of heartened to see a grin creeping up on him, though. "This is going to be _disastrous_."

"Have some faith, I'm pretty good undercover," Mike shot back, huffing with exaggerated offense; he set his water on the coffee table just to cross his arms. "You're lucky I didn't take all of their offers, or I wouldn't be here right now for you to harass me."

"He's got a bit of queen in him already," Cath said, smirking. "We just need to polish it up and make it shiny enough to not look like bacon, and we're good."

Mike didn't have time to ponder what she meant by that, before Brett had finally started grinning for real, eying Cathy. "So, let me just summarize: You're going to be my beard so I can play straight while we give him a tuneup so he can play queer, and we're going to do all of this on our personal time and hope to everything good in the universe no other Mounties figure it out?"

"Pretty much," Cath agreed, nodding.

Brett huffed a laugh, massaging his forehead one-handed, sounding like a man who had nothing left to lose by doing something just a little crazy. "I'm in."

"Good." Mike picked up his water to salute with it, then paused, eyebrows drawn. "Wait, if she's your beard, does that mean I'm your mustache?"

Brett stared and then started laughing and didn't stop for a good two minutes straight.

Which might have been the point all along.

 


End file.
